


Happy Birthday

by bubblebellarina



Series: Project Thornfield Test Shorts [1]
Category: Original Work, The 13th Moon (Original Novel)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Burns, Character Death, Death, Fire, Gen, Horror, Murder, Short Story, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24768280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblebellarina/pseuds/bubblebellarina
Summary: On October 30th, 1767, the former queen of a country ran. A 19 year old girl ran, away from her home, her fiancé, and all that she is familiar with, ran with twisted ankles and punctured lungs and bleeding wounds and a broken heart. Because she promised. She promised.A promise between her and her mentor, a promise between a cursed child and a ghost, who lost her life to the very same curse.
Relationships: Etoile Josepha Antonio | Jemisha | Karin & Naoka | Fuyumi (The 13th Moon), Etoile Josepha Antonio | Jemisha | Karin/Geal (The 13th Moon)
Series: Project Thornfield Test Shorts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792879
Kudos: 1





	Happy Birthday

Etoile gasped.

The cold night air of late October burns in her lungs, her throat is dry, almost like it's cracking. Red shoes repeatedly slam onto the forest floor, sending yellow, golden and brown leaves into the air. She choked back a whine, but it ripped it's way out her throat anyway as a cross between a whimper and a sob.

The moon hung high in the sky, beautiful and bright. But Etoile is too tired to care right now. Bleeding heavily from multiple wounds, she stumbled over a raised root and crashed into the soil, bristles and thorns digging into open cuts as she hissed. Tears slipped from her eyes, mixed with the rust-red of blood and turning pink, dripping onto her white shirt and blooming like pretty flowers. Is this what sakuras looks like? She briefly wondered, the sakura blossoms from the country to the east Fuyumi is from?

'I'm so sorry, Karin-chan,' through the ringing of her ears Etoile can almost hear her mentor calling out to her, the strange, affectionate nickname fondly irritating, 'I have to leave.'

A stuttering cry turned into a wheeze, squeezing itself through her vocal cords as she stumbled again. The sweet scent of petrichor contaminated by a metallic stench filling her nostrils. The smell made her eyes water, but instead she ripped her white jacket off, dragged her sleeve over her eyes harshly, and pushed on.

Her sprained ankle protested, her broken ribs dug into her lungs. The wounds on her torso bleeds and burns but Etoile closed her eyes to it all. She promised.

She can hear the barks from the hounds now. The angry townspeople and their enraged shouts seemed so close yet so far, reverberating through the trees as if miles away when in fact their torch lights are already in sight through the claws-like branches. There is no time. Etoile slips between the tall roots, shrinks against the rough bark and as her legs give out beneath her, she collapses.

Mustering what little strength in her body, Etoile raised a trembling arm. Her broken fingers twitched in a particular pattern, the bone fragments digging painfully into her flesh. White symbols glowed briefly on her arm. Then she let it fall limp.

Her people, her subjects, stamped past her in wrathful mobs. Their steps rumbling the ground as they screamed for her death, for her to suffer, but as they sped past her they didn't see her at all.

She didn't move until they were all gone. And even when the voices dissipated, Etoile staied very, very still, her breaths shallow and painful to her blood-filled lungs.

But she won't die from it. Even if she wished to, she couldn't die from a wound like this. It hurts, but she couldn't die. She can't.

Not only because her biology wouldn't allow her, but because she promised.

She raises her hand. Twisting her broken fingers again the glow returned for a brief moment and shattered like glass around her. Violent coughs tore from her throat, and blood spilt past her lips and onto the ground, crimson mix with yellow and brown and gold, soaking the earth with the blood of another one of her kind.

'Promise me, Etoile, please.' Her mentor's last words resonated in her mind, 'Live.'

She's made it past fourteen. Etoile dragged her sleeve over her mouth harshly, she's made it past sixteen, and she is going to make it.

She forced herself onto her feet, broken ribs punctured her lungs, shattered bones cut through her muscles, but she gritted her teeth and stood. Red shoes stood firm against the forest floor, and Etoile Josepha Antonio stood with her shoulders pulled back and chin high, blood in rivets and bones in splinters.

 _Snap_.

Her breath catches. Etoile whirls around, hand raised and ready to combat, but as her one yellow eye met with olive greens, she faltered.

"...Gael."

Her voice came out soft, tired. Her fiancé did not reply. He simply gazed at her, sword and pistol hanging from his hips.

The words of the curse came to mind, and as Etoile gazed into the blank, beautiful eyes of her beloved she found herself immobile. Her hand dropped to her side, and she stood there in silence.

His eyes are so cold.

"Gael, please." She said through trembling lips.

"I didn't have a choice." She said softly, calmly, weakly.

Anger flash. And with a step he closed the distance between them. There was a flash of silver as he yanked his blade out, she saw it coming, his form is sloppy and slow compared to hers, and if she'd just raised a hand it would've been okay, she would be able to stop him.

But she doesn't. And so she feels every inch of the blade pass through her. It severs her windpipe and cuts through flesh, grazing her spine roughly. Etoile fell, a guttural, gargling scream bubbles up and wrenches it's way past her throat. She fell to her knees, tears slipped down her face as she clenched her head in place. She can't die, and it hurts. But the physical pain she is going through right now and the unbearable ache in her heart cannot compare.

Her ears rang as he spoke, his words blurred and hazy but she can hear every last one of them clearly, how could she? Thousands of lives lost, what kind of monster is she?

He glared down at her with hateful eyes that burned into her soul, she was numb and trembling as he poured a slippery, thick fluid over her body. Her vision blurs with tears and the foreign substance, and watched as he stroked a match, the hissing sound accompanying the chimes of a bell in the distance, ringing midnight.

October 31st, 1767.

Happy Birthday.

The oil ignites, and Etoile is set ablaze.


End file.
